


Jumping the Shark

by SillynekoRobin



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nook Eating, Porrim Maryam/Kankri Vantas Moirallegiance, Quadrant Confusion, a greaser in his natural habitat, and she has complex quadranty feels, because Porrim is a complex woman okay, cronkri - Freeform, pornus - Freeform, pornus is probably the best ship name ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:03:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9417680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SillynekoRobin/pseuds/SillynekoRobin
Summary: In which a put upon rainbowdrinker and her candy red moirail pay a visit to a mutual friend, blunder horns-first into more than they bargained for, and are absolutely alright with that: Featuring introspection by a sophisticated jadeblood heroine, graphic descriptions of cross-spectrum concupiscent activities, at least one horribly mangled vow of celibacy, suspected misuse of human-style sleeping platforms, and the questionable intoning of troll celebrities.





	

* * *

 

Your name is Porrim Maryam, and you are fairly certain that your moirail is overreacting.

 

“Cronus, are you there?” Kankri says earnestly, knocking louder on the door of your mutual friend’s dwelling. “If so, please answer! Porrim and I are becoming concerned for your wellbeing—and besides, it’s very rude to ignore guests.”

 

You cross your arms and look skeptically at the seemingly deserted place. You’ve both been standing here for nearly five minutes now, and there certainly doesn’t seem to be anyone about. “Kankri, dear, perhaps he really isn’t here. And if he is, then he obviously doesn’t want to be bothered or he would have answered the door by now.”

 

Your nubby-horned diamond huffs stubbornly. “But he must be. We’ve searched all of the other possible locations. Besides, he hasn’t answered a single message in three nights! You know very well how unlike Cronus that is.”

 

When he puts it like that, you do grudgingly have to admit that his worry might have some substance behind it. “Hmm, yes. I suppose you’re right. He might hole up to work on his music for one night, two if he’s feeling particularly pouty, but three is a bit unusual.”

 

“Exactly. And as his friends, it is our duty to ensure that he isn’t in need of some kind of assistance.” Kankri turns triumphantly back to the door and knocks again, as loudly as he can. “Cronus, if you’re there, please say something! At least let us know that you’re all right.”

 

You heave a quiet sigh and resign yourself to whiling away more of your evening communicating with the façade of Ampora’s human-style house. There’s no real harm in humoring Kankri and sparing a few minutes to make sure that the greaser in question hasn’t crashed his ridiculous purple human vehicle into a tree, or some such thing. Though you suppose you would have at least seen the resultant fireball lighting up the landscape, if that were the case.

 

Your relationship with Cronus has always been a complicated one, through life and afterlife and unexpected resurrection.

 

Yes, it’s quite true that you find the seadweller attractive. And sometimes you’re almost sure that you’re red for his dense, charming, obsolete-human-culture-obsessed self. Other times, though, you’re equally sure you’d like to throttle his sulky, oblivious, gilled neck in the pitchest of manners. For this reason, you’ve never followed up on any of his (many, many, many) invitations for a date. You may be fairly rubbish at most relationships, but you do know that frequent flipping does not a strong quadrant make.

 

In weak moments you sometimes catch yourself thinking that perhaps just one little fling wouldn’t hurt… but you’re not that callous, and you know how hard it would likely be on Cronus, Bard of Tries Too Hard, if you showed interest and then left him out in the cold.

 

You’re not ignorant of how fond your moirail is of Cronus, either. In fact, you’re probably more aware of it than even Kankri himself. Interpersonal relationships are complex and tiring and difficult, and no one understands, with the possible exception of Kankri’s shouty little dancestor.

 

After several more minutes of silence from within, during which Kankri appears to be seriously considering breaking and entering—trigger warning: illegal activity; trigger warning: invasion of personal space and privacy—finally, you hear footsteps. The door jerks open, leaving Kankri poised mid knock.

 

“Okay, okay, sheesh! Easy, chief. Don’t have to go breakin’ down the door.”

 

Despite yourself, you’re caught somewhat off guard. Cronus’s face and earfins (what you can see of them, at least, with the door held open only a few inches) are flushed noticeably violet. His hair appears hastily styled, stray curls escaping here and there to spring up around his hornbeds and hang around his face. His clothes, too, usually so fastidiously causal-perfect, look rumpled to your trained and fashionable eye.

 

“Cronus, _there_ you are!” Kankri exclaims, hands landing on his hips as he squares up and prepares for verbal warfare. “Porrim and I were beginning to think that you were in some kind of trouble. Surely I need not inform you that it is highly inconsiderate to ignore repeated attempts by one’s friends at contact, causing potentially triggering worry and anxiety on their parts—”

 

No stranger to such lectures, Cronus groans melodramatically and thunks his forehead against the doorframe, just shy of the double waves of his scars. “Alright, alright! Yeah, I should’a replied to at least one message. I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again. But as you can see, I’m totally fine. So no need ta worry!”

 

As he talks, you can’t help but notice how much care he’s taking to keep the door guarded, never allowing it to open more than the bare minimum necessary for conversation. This is entirely at odds with his usual habit of blithely falling into the personal space of others with all the subtlety of a boulder off a bridge. The situation has officially become intriguing.

 

You step forward at last, up next to Kankri, and Cronus seems to notice your presence for the first time. His eyes widen as if he’s been spooked by your ethereal daywalker aura. (Unlikely, but occasionally you are allowed to toot your own horn, here.)

 

“Well, Cronus, are you going to invite us inside or keep us waiting on the step all evening?” you ask. “Usually you can’t wait for visitors to pay you attention.”

 

He instantly flushes a darker violet, looking back at the two of you like an antlerbeast in the illumination beams. “W-well, I—that is, uh—usually—but right now is, a real bad time for me, no offense to any cool cats and kittens present—”

 

He’s stammering. Beyond his usual wavering pronunciation of V’s and W’s Cronus is actually stammering, something you haven’t heard him do in sweeps and eternities, and it takes you so by surprise that you smile widely, the tips of your fangs peeking out. As you do, the breeze shifts just so, and a whiff of _something_ dances fleetingly over your tongue.

 

The taste, the sweet scent on the breeze, is positively decadent. Delectable. Heady, even. Reflexively you run your tongue along your fangs, eyes narrowing on the only likely source of this sudden, terribly odd temptation.

 

“Cronus, I do hate to interrupt,” Kankri breaks in on the stuttering display your friend is putting on, “but are you feeling at all ill? You look rather warmer than you ought to, considering the optimal body temperature for a troll of your blood color—er, ah, no offense meant to your human-kin sensibilities, and I do hope I haven’t triggered you in any way.”

 

Cronus looks panicked as he begins to close the door, babbling through the rapidly narrowing crack. “Uh, nope, no triggering here, not at all! But listen, I gotta jet, got something real important in the works, but definitely later—”

 

Acting on impulse, you grab the door handle before he shuts the two of you out completely. You’re fairly sure, based on the presented evidence, that you finally understand what’s going on.

 

“Cronus. Before you go, may I ask you an… indelicate question?”

 

Though there’s no possible way in any conceivable reality that your strength could ever hope to match up to a violet’s, and he could have pushed the door back on you as easily as if you’d been a tinkerbull, he nervously allows you to hold it open. “I guess so, yeah. Just make it quick, babe.”

 

“You’re in a heat cycle, aren’t you?”

 

He sucks in a sharp breath that’s almost a hiss, blood-saturated fins flaring wide in shock. “What the—how do you even know about that?!”

 

You try not to look too smug and probably fail. “Rainbow drinker. Advanced sense of smell, recall?”

 

Kankri is looking between the two of you as if you’re speaking in tongues. “Obviously I’m missing something of some importance, here. What do you mean, heat? It’s quite a pleasant temperature today.”

 

“Nothing, it’s totally nothing that you need to—”

 

“Heat,” you explain, succinctly cutting Cronus off as he scrambles, “is a biological condition that can, though isn’t guaranteed to, affect seadwellers at certain periods during a sweep. It’s an old evolutionary throwback, so apparently it doesn’t happen to all of them.” It’s truly fascinating what one can learn from Aranea’s musty old books, when one takes the time to peruse them. “Given my interest in all facets of… concupiscent matters… I’ve read a fair bit on the subject.”

 

All the pieces fit. The highly suggestive scent change; the obvious signals of physical discomfort; even his abrupt disappearance from your social circle suddenly makes sense. If what you’ve read is true, it was once fairly common for seatrolls in their cycle to isolate—whether because they were pining for a specific quadrantmate and no one else would do, or because they simply didn’t want to risk throwing themselves at any common lowblood in a hormonal lapse of judgment.

 

Odd that Cronus of all people would do that, you think, but there’s always the possibility it was just instinct at work.

 

Kankri is quickly turning a fetching shade of crimson. “Ah, perhaps I didn’t quite hear you clearly, Porrim. Did you say con… cupiscent?”

 

Finally seeming to realize that there is no graceful way to slither, squirm, crawl, or run screaming out of this situation, Cronus groans an expletive and rubs his face in frustration. “Yes, alright? It’s seriously uncomfortable and humiliating, and I actually thought I was in the clear on ever having to deal with it, but apparently not.”

 

“So, what happens when you, ah… that is, what are the symptoms?” Kankri asks, clearly intrigued despite himself. “I do strive to be as well informed as possible, as you know.”

 

Cronus sweeps an irritated hand through his mussed hair. “Long story short, your body goes crazy, your hormones spike, and all you can think about is convincing somebody to pail your nightlights out. It sucks globes, but as far as I can figure it only lasts a week or so.”

 

Kankri manages to look both scandalized and sympathetic. “An entire week? That sounds horrid.”

 

The seadweller shrugs uncomfortably. “Tell me about it. But I guess it could be worse. I mean, it won’t kill ya. You just gotta… improvise.”

 

You have a pretty good idea of what ‘improvising’ must entail and you’re slightly concerned even as you’re amused.

 

“Are you at least keeping hydrated? Remembering to eat? We could bring you some proteingrub bars, if you need them.” It’s been rather difficult for some of your previously deceased companions to readjust to the baser requirements of a living, breathing body. Even you went through a rocky first perigree before you got the hang of blood sugar again and felt like your old self.

 

Kankri nods resolutely. “Yes, Cronus, don’t hesitate to let us know if we can provide you with _any_ assistance you might require.”

 

… sweet mother grub, did your prudish little diamond just utter an innuendo?

 

You glance down at him in disbelief and realize with a start that you can’t be the only one who’s noticed how good Cronus smells right now. Your heightened senses aside, heat pheromones are absolutely a thing, and the longer that door stays open the more even Kankri seems to be affected by them. His flush has gotten more pronounced. His eyes, just recently beginning to show the first hints of the red they’ll once again be one day, have fallen to half mast. He seems to be sizing Cronus up, not unlike the intensity he displays directly before delivering a verbal trouncing.

 

His target has noticed that intensity, too. He shifts behind the partial barrier of the door. “Uh, you okay there, Kanny? You got a funny look on your face.”

 

“That’s Kan-KRI,” comes the immediate correction, but then his tone dips down to one unfamiliar to you; just shy of a purr. “But I am perfectly fine, Cronus, thank you for your concern. And I want to ensure that _you_ are perfectly fine as well. As your friend, and as a troll privileged to be unaffected by the uncomfortable and inconvenient urges from which you are currently suffering, it is my duty to assist you to the _best_ of my ability.”

 

You absolutely can’t help yourself when you crack up laughing.

 

“And just what, pray tell, is so funny?” he asks, clearly annoyed by your merriment.

 

“Kankri, you’re so adorable. Just admit you want to pail the fishy.”

 

“Porrim!” he shrieks lividly. “I’ll have you know that I find that assertion to be extremely triggering—”

 

“Oh, calm down, darling. You’re so painfully obvious, looking for a righteous reason to break your vow. Haven’t I told you again and again, no one will think less of you for giving it up? Especially Cronus, I believe.”

 

Cronus is staring at the two of you in disbelief, claws making grooves in the doorjamb, earfins opening and closing like nervous umbrellas. “… I’m dreaming, right? I’m passed out somewhere, hallucinating all this because my higher thought processes are drowning in heat hormones.”

 

Kankri pulls his face out from where it’s partially retreated, shellbeast-like, into the neck of his sweater to huff in irritation. “Really now, that is highly unlikely.” He’s tomato red and cute as a pissy button.

 

You chuckle again, then make a valiant effort to compose yourself. “Listen, Cronus. I know this is a bit sudden. We obviously had no idea this would happen when we came here this evening. But Kanny’s right. We’re your friends, and we’re very willing to help you. And you do smell quite… enticing. Right, Kankri?”

 

Your moirail clears his throat, blusters and fidgets with the hem of his sweater. “Well… I… in a way… ah… that is…” Finally he takes a deep breath and straightens up, meeting your gazes with his most defiant of expressions. “Yes, that’s right. B-but, let me be perfectly clear—this does not in any way qualify as a breaking of my vow. This is merely a temporary _rescinding_ of my vow, in order to assist another troll who would otherwise needlessly suffer.”

 

As if you haven’t had at least four ‘hypothetical’ conversations in the sweater pile within the last two perigrees about personal growth, embracing new opportunities and experiences, and moving forward as a continually growing and changing being. You shake your head, roll your eyes, and exercise great self control by not patting Kankri between his precious little horns.

 

Seeming mollified enough, he turns back to Cronus and straightens up matter-of-factly. “That being said and understood, would you please open the door?” Then he stills, a flicker of uncertainty giving him pause. “I mean, that is of course, only if you are entirely comfortable with our proposal. We wouldn’t dream of attempting to coerce you into accepting help that you don’t want. That would be not only an affront to your ability to choose your own methods of coping with this distressing condition, but also a gross violation of personal boundaries on our parts.”

 

“Absolutely,” you echo, absurdly proud of Kankri for practicing what he preaches, for a change. “It’s entirely up to you.”

 

Cronus looks mightily conflicted, biting at his lip as his fins twitch agitatedly. His trimmed claws dig even deeper into the door, leaving little scrapes in the paint that are sure to annoy him later. You honestly didn’t expect him to hesitate, so the next few silent moments are rather nerve wracking.

 

Suddenly the door swings open wide with a longing whine you’re pretty sure didn’t come from the hinges. “Y’know what, fuck it. I’m just gonna trust that you two know what you’re doin’ and this isn’t some kind'a sick joke.”

 

Kankri lets out the relieved breath you didn’t realize you were holding as well. “Problematic use of language aside, I’m so very glad you’ve decided to place this trust in us. We will do our utmost to live up to it.”

 

“Yes, we would never joke about something this important.” There’s teasing, and then there’s just being cruel. You smile, you hope reassuringly, and step inside.

 

Some deeply buried part of your thinkpan is having a field day as you enter Cronus’s personal space, secure in his approval. Of course his scent is even stronger in here, and your instincts seem to be interpreting this as you hitting the reproductive jackpot. You courted; he accepted; and you are in for quite the enjoyable reward for your efforts. Some of the eagerness you’ve been patiently holding back shows itself as you step confidently up to him.

 

“Give us a kiss, darling?”

 

He all but falls against you, limp and totally willing, and you purr a little victory as kissing ensues. You enjoy kissing, and you’re very good at it, especially the bit where you nibble a little. You’re so engrossed that you almost manage to forget about Kankri entirely, until he steps in behind you and prudently closes the door.

 

“A-hem!” He clears his throat, glancing furtively around as if he’s trying and failing not to stare. “I do hate to interrupt, and I’m certainly not an expert on such matters, but wouldn’t it be customary to move these activities to a location with a… platform?”

 

Oops, you almost forgot. Reluctantly you pull away, loosening the possessive grip you’ve unconsciously gotten on the collar of Cronus’s tee-shirt.

 

He leans after you, making a noise like a confused cricket. You ruffle his fins gently in apology and he blinks hard, seeming to shake off some of the haziness hooding his eyes. “Huh?”

 

“Your respiteblock, dear. Lead the way?” If this wasn’t the first time you’ve been inside his new residence and you knew where that was, you’d lead the boys there yourself, alluringly. Alluring is your aesthetic, after all. 

 

“My block. Room. Right.” Cronus takes a few unsteady steps, then glances back to make sure you and Kankri are following. When he confirms that you didn’t take the opportunity to run for the hills the moment his back was turned, he seems reassured and continues on.

 

“Your hive—er, home is very nice, Cronus.” Kankri makes a valiant attempt at small talk as you pass a jukebox taking up a good part of one wall in the main block. “It’s certainly reminiscent of your unique personal tastes and interests. It never would have occurred to me to use an engine as a component in one’s interior decorating.” He side-eyes the hot beverage plateau said engine props up.

 

“Me either, ‘til Zahhak snapped the leg off that table when he helped me get it in here. Kinda gives the place a garage-chic look, though.”

 

Your own hive overflows with fabric and flora, so you have no room to judge.

  
Cronus’s personal block, when you reach it, continues the trend. His guitar is propped against the desk where his husktop sits idly, silently flashing notifications of all the bright red messages he hasn’t checked. Above the desk, a neon sign that looks like it might have been liberated from a drive in glows placidly.

 

The walls are covered in posters and pictures of musicians and celebrities of both troll and human persuasion. Trollivia Newton John, Trollvolta, Presley, James Dean and Marlyn Monroe, with horns and without, cover every available empty space, and you muffle a laugh into your palm when you realize that the three of you are about to make passionate redrom under the watchful eye of troll Fonzie.

 

Trigger warning: shark jumping joke. Ayyyy.

 

Kankri peers around curiously. “I don’t wish to inadvertently be rude or appear ignorant, but… where is your recuperacoon, Cronus? And why is your platform covered in these odd cushions and fabrics?”

 

“Eh, the ‘coon’s in a spare room.” Cronus thumbs dismissively over his shoulder. “I only use it when I gotta. But that’s not a platform, it’s a human bed. They’re super comfy. You sleep on ‘em and… do other things.”

 

Normally, you would roll your eyes at the suggestive purr and fin flutter.

 

Normally, Kankri would launch into a twenty minute lecture complete with whistle blowing.

 

Normal is a thing that is absolutely not happening right now.

 

Instead you smile, fangs pricking your bottom lip, and let your hands sink speculatively into the soft coverings. “I must say, I’m impressed with this concept. But tell me, do all humans have ‘beds’ so big, or were you just planning ahead?”

 

Cronus has the decency to look sheepish as he shrugs. “Welllll… hope springs eternal?”

 

“I’m quite sure.” Kankri sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Honestly, though, I must admit I’m slightly surprised that you didn’t attempt to seek out company before we came to check up on you this evening. Despite the general response to your rather forward solicitations, I’m sure Porrim and I can’t be the only ones who would have been willing to assist you, given the… extenuating circumstances.”

 

Fins pinning back suddenly, Cronus shrugs off the question with obvious discomfort. “Well, you know. Sometimes a guy just wants ta be left alone. That ain’t a crime.”

 

The rather poor act doesn’t fool you in the slightest. No matter how much he may like to pretend that the physical act of pailing is all he’s after, you know very well that’s not the case, and you feel a stab of almost pale pity. (Everyone’s hovering cluckbeast lusus, it is you.)

 

Kankri is not good at taking hints. This time, though, he comes through. Tugging at the collar of his sweater, he clears his throat. “That is perfectly understandable. And I… I must say that I am, ah, pleased that we are the apparent exceptions to your wish for solitude.”

 

Yes. Good Kankri, clever diamond.

 

Now, though, is certainly no time to focus on pale feelings. You segue safely back into red territory by seductively shimmying out of your dress straps. “Quite. So, why don’t we put our current company to good use, hmm?”

 

Cronus looks at you like he’s swallowed his tongue.

 

Kankri looks like he’s been issued a challenge.

 

For the next several moments, the only sounds are those frantic rustles of rushed disrobing. Kankri’s pants take forever to unzip. You elegantly snag your dress on the prong of your forked horn. Cronus trips trying to get out of his shoes. At last the bedsprings squeak in protest as three nearly grown trolls topple onto it.

 

You land with Cronus sandwiched between you and Kankri, looking out of his depth and unsure which of you to focus on first, with two sets of hands suddenly on him. This arrangement seems like it will work fairly well, so you take the initiative and reel him in for another kiss. Like this, Kankri can take his time to adjust and ease into the action as he sees fit.

 

Speaking of Kankri. You spare a glance at your moirail to make sure that he’s coping properly with all this bare skin—and snort. “Kankri. Darling. You took off your pants, but you’re not willing to take off your sweater?”

 

Blushing furiously, he instantly drops his hands to pull the hem of the sweater down over the emerging tip of his bulge and the plumping, slightly glossy lips of his nook. “I… I believe I’d like to leave it on for the time being, if that isn’t objectionable?”

 

Cronus chuckles breathlessly. “No worries, chief. Whatever you’re okay with.” His eyes roam Kankri’s flushed little form appreciatively. “It’s actually kinda cute.”

 

“Thank you for making the effort to understand, Cronus. It is appreciated.” Steeling his nerve, Kankri leans forward and tentatively kisses up the side of Cronus’s neck, careful of the delicate gills he finds there. He seems to become surer of himself at the seadweller’s surprised sounds of pleasure and adds a little tongue to the mix, redoubling the squirming against you.

 

“Enjoying yourself, Cronus?” You coo teasingly, smooching a rapidly flickering earfin. “You seem a bit tense.”

  
  
He whines and shudders, and you feel the cool slide of his bulge against your thigh. “Just so you know, I totally had this under control before—you guys are just makin’ it worse!”

 

Ah, you think, those lovely highblood instincts have picked up on the proximity of potential genetic material contributors and have his body rolling out the violet carpet for you. How considerate.

 

“Oh, dear. I do apologize for fanning the fire, so to speak.” Unrepentantly, you begin to nip and suck at the opposite side of his throat, winking at Kankri as you do.

 

 “H-hey now, watch the fangs, babe!” Cronus stammers, shivering as you ghost over his gill slits.

 

The thought of a true bite anywhere near those intricate, fragile organs is enough to make both seadwellers of your clade blanch. It took forever for you to persuade either of them to let you feed from them, and even then it took the compromise of you settling for a wrist instead. (As it turned out, Meenah’s deep-sea genes make her fuchsia blood so salty it’s like drinking brine; Cronus, on the other hand, has just enough excess salinity to be delicious and slightly addictive, like root vegetable crisps. You’ve never forgotten the ridiculously pleased look on his face when you casually mentioned that fact.)

 

As tempting as a tiny nibble sounds, you know better. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun. “Not even a little taste?” You pout playfully. “What if I tasted somewhere else instead?”

 

“Hot damn! Yes, please—!” Cronus moans and arches against your mouth as your lips trail down his torso, passing the spot where you think the little abdominal indent would be if he really were a human and giving it a lick of acknowledgement as you move lower.

 

Kankri watches you over Cronus’s shoulder, eyes blown wide in… shock? Arousal? Both? “Porrim, that is—that’s so—I have never—!”

 

You ready yourself for some kind of scolding, more than willing under the circumstances to scold back. There’s a time for protecting delicate sensibilities, and your fully extended, highly interested bulge is reaffirming that this is surely not it.

 

But Kankri just takes a deep, unsteady breath, cuts off his own rambling to gather himself, and very seriously blurts out, “You should lick his nook.”

 

Cronus lets out a sudden, startled trill, then slaps a hand over his own mouth in mortification.

 

“What’s the matter?” you ask. “Would you rather not?” You’re slightly disappointed by the thought. This is one of your specialties, if previous partners can be believed, so you had hoped he’d be willing to at least let you try.

 

“No, no, that’s totally not it,” he rushes to assure. “It’s just…” Violet fins lower in embarrassment. “Most human guys don’t have nooks, y’know? So I don’t really mess with it all that much.”

 

Kankri visibly shivers, thighs rubbing together absently. “So you’re a bit… sensitive. I see.”

 

You grin predatorily. “All the more fun. Just say something if you want me to stop.”

 

Panting softly, Kankri hugs Cronus close from behind, hands roaming almost unconsciously across ribs and torsal gills. “Yes, we would hate to… inadvertently trigger any… negative…” Unable to process the thought, he buries his face in the seadweller’s hair with a frustrated groan. “Why do you have to smell so good?! It’s impossible to concentrate!”

 

It really is becoming quite difficult to focus. Taking that as the sign it’s obviously meant to be, you give one warning peck to the inside of Cronus’s thigh and lean in somewhat more cautiously than you would otherwise. If he starts thrashing there’s no way you’ll be able to hold him down.

 

Luckily for you, though, he seems to be trying hard to hold himself in check. When he throws his head back at the first exploratory contact, it’s to the side opposite where Kankri’s chin rests on his shoulder; a damn good thing, considering those wicked horn points. A hand lands on your own horn reflexively, but almost immediately falls to fist in the bed coverings instead as Cronus’s other set of claws tangle with Kankri’s sweater.

 

Reassured that no one’s about to be inadvertently gored, you set to work with enthusiasm, lavishing his nook with attention. A steady stream of desperate chirps and other noises assures you that your efforts are appreciated; much preferable to the foolishness he’s usually spouting. You revel in the twitch of over-stimulated nook under your tongue, the tensing of strong thigh muscles under your palms as you hold them spread—until a thrashing bulge catches you full across the face.

 

… you really should have been expecting that.

 

Heaving a sigh, you glance up at Kankri as you wipe violet genetic material off the bridge of your nose. You’re pleased to see he’s holding his own. Cronus has the mothergrub of all hickies in progress at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Kankri growls and purrs softly around the affectionate bites, and you are certainly not jealous that his dull canines are that close to the gills you’ve been perma-banned from. (That’s a lie; you’re literally green with envy.)

 

“Lend a hand, dear?” Grabbing your moirail by the wrist, you guide his hand down within twining distance of the urgently undulating bulge currently making your life more difficult. The instant it meets his warm grip it curls around and between his fingers, clinging like a slitherbeast that hasn’t eaten in a sweep.

 

It seems that the double stimulation is all Cronus can handle. The moment you return your attention to his nook with Kankri on bulge-wrangling duty, he lets out a high, warbling trill you didn’t know Beforan trolls were even capable of producing. You’re rapidly gaining a fondness for desperate seadweller noises.

 

With what looks like supreme effort of will, he finds his words. “Porrim, Kanny—one’a you, please! Just pail me!”

 

Kankri lets out a squeak like a grub being trod on as Cronus suddenly pulls away from him and then turns, falling back into his arms and pressing heavily against him, but face to face. You’re left with a singular view, and smirk rather wickedly at the request.

 

“That can be arranged, darling.” You spread the nook so prettily presented, admiring your own handiwork, and he moans deeply, arching his hips back and up in clear invitation. “Kankri, how would you like to go about this? If I may use a sea-themed pun, he’s in perfect position to go diving.”

 

Your diamond sputters incoherently at the insinuation, hips twitching against Cronus’s chest as the violet nuzzles at his stomach single-mindedly. “As… intriguing as that proposition may be, Porrim, I believe I’d actually like to…”

 

With some difficulty, he convinces Cronus to scoot back just enough. When he has the room, Kankri squirms down properly on the platform—er, bed—rather than just reclining on the cushions. When he gets situated to his satisfaction he beckons, Cronus goes willingly, and they fall back together properly aligned. There is a sharp gasp of surprise and a simultaneous hiss of want, presumably as their bulges tangle, and you have another brief moment of jealousy that, as a mid-spectrum jade, you’ll never know that kind of extreme temperature difference with a partner. Kankri and Cronus, almost as far apart as the spectrum can go, have the luck of that here.

 

Kankri clings to Cronus like a limpet, legs locking around his hips. “Ah! Oh, goodness! Please, Cronus, is this position acceptable?”

 

“Fuck yes, it’s acceptable!” is the raggedly groaned response. “Porrim, fuckin’ _please—_!”

 

How can you refuse a plea like that? Shaking off the momentary rush of pale feelings at seeing your adorable little diamond so enthralled by this new experience, you draw your claws soothingly down Cronus’s spine and prowl elegantly into position. “Just relax, darling. Here we go.”

 

He cries out sharply as your bulge slips smoothly into his ready nook, and you feel a momentary pulse of panic that makes you freeze. Cronus is _tight,_ and while he himself admitted he lacks expertise here, you suddenly wonder if he’s done this at all, ever. Only the insistent chirrups and stilted rocking motion back against you reassure you that, while he may be unused to such a stretch, that doesn’t mean he isn’t enjoying it.

 

Still, you ease forward more slowly until you’re fully seated. There you pause, taking a breath to collect yourself. Your bulge, unbidden, seizes the moment to give an impatient, exploratory thrash.

 

There follows a loud and obvious ripping sound. Kankri gasps, hands clenching in the hair at the back of Cronus’s neck. Alarmed, you glance down, but the only thing that seems to have sustained an injury is Kankri’s sweater. Cronus’s knife-like teeth are sunk deep into the red fabric; his claws buried safely in the blankets instead of in your moirail.

 

Relieved, you chuckle breathlessly. “Now I’m going to have to patch that. Naughty fishy.”

 

Cronus mumbles what sounds like a garbled apology, then opens his mouth to moan, releasing the fabric, as Kankri reaches up to palm the bases of his horns. He looks less than bothered by the gaping hole revealing part of his flushed neck and clavicle.

 

Finally, you allow yourself to relax. Enjoying the moment, you thrust almost languidly, humming appreciatively as your bulge curls and strokes against sensitive inner walls like cool, slick silk. “Mmm…you feel marvelous inside,” you can’t help but murmur, reaching out to stroke through hopelessly disheveled hair. “It’s like slipping into a pool of water on a hot night.”

 

“So is—ah!—your bulge,” Kankri squeaks, rocking his hips up into the tangle of contact. “It feels so—it’s amazing, I had no idea!”

 

Cronus is shaking. You’re not sure if he’s completely unused to praise, or fairly overwhelmed with sensation, or a bit of both. Little whines and whimpers escape from where his face is pressed into Kankri’s throat, your name and Kankri’s name and feels so good pleasepleaseplease.

 

The three of you rock and thrust together, petting and nipping, making a rather impressive amount of noise. You steal a moment to press a kiss right over Cronus’s gills; he’s so far out of it that all he does is croon and tip his head to give you better access. Like the good and trustworthy friend you are, you don’t bite.

 

It’s almost too late when you finally think of a bucket. Even then, you dismiss the thought almost at once. One pail under three trolls in this position is just not going to work out. You’ll plan ahead next time—you’d better, or Kanaya will probably cull you Alternian style if she ever finds out you let three castes worth of genetic material go to waste.

 

To no one’s surprise, Cronus is the first to reach his peak. When he does, his bulge convulses around Kankri’s and Kankri positively shrieks, digging his claws into Cronus’s shoulders as crimson genetic fluid joins the rapidly spreading puddle of violet beneath you. The frantic rippling and clenching around you pulls you out like a riptide, combining with their sweet sounds to ensure that you follow quickly. One hand tightens on the dip in a wavy horn, inadvertently pulling Cronus’s head back and affording Kankri the perfect opportunity to assault his gasping throat with lips and tongue and teeth.

 

When the gasps, curses, and involuntary primitive vocalizations die out, all that’s left is a stretch of harsh panting and brief quiet as you all sink bonelessly into the now slightly soggy bed.

 

… did you mention that the silence was brief?

 

As soon as he regains his breath, Kankri bursts out into unsteady giggling. “Oh my goodness, that was… that was positively _enlightening!_ I feel so much more able to relate to those individuals who choose to participate in intimate activities of a physical nature! Not that I regret keeping my vow until this point, of course, as it did allow me to concentrate on my studies and has helped me to become the troll I am today—”

 

“Kankri, love. Your sweater is absolutely ruined.”

 

He glances down in surprise, only then seeming to notice the huge tear and splatters of genetic material. “Ah. So it is. My apologies, Porrim. It seems I should have taken it off after all.” He shakes Cronus, still sprawled out motionless and pinning his other arm down. “Cronus, I need to move.”

 

Cronus twitches and groans softly, burying his face further into your diamond’s chest. He doesn’t seem inclined to do much more moving than that for the moment.

 

“Is he alright?” Kankri asks with some concern. “We weren’t too rough, were we?”

 

You chuckle, fighting the urge to pinch Kankri on his cute little bottom, fully exposed where his sweater hem has ridden up in the back. “Not to worry. Seadweller heats take a lot out of them, from what I understand, but they bounce back just fine.”

 

Having the two of you here should trip another flood of hormones and hopefully make the whole process quicker and easier for Cronus to deal with. At least, it should in theory.

 

“Oh, marvelous! I simply must attempt to have his bulge inside me the next time. In the interest of continuing to expand my point of view, of course.”

 

“Of course.” You snort good-naturedly and really do reach out to pinch his rear. He yelps and swats at your hand, chattering in offense.

 

Cronus, jostled by your play, finally stirs enough to look up at you blearily. “So you guys aren’t leavin’?” he slurs, sounding confused by the concept.

 

“Welcome back to the land of the quasi-living.” You scratch around his hornbeds companionably, coaxing a dazed purr in seconds. “No, we’re not going anywhere. Not before you want us to, at least.”

 

Despite yourself, you’re entertaining ideas you just can’t shake. Like how nice Cronus would look with jade on his face and cherry red dripping from his nook. And how unutterably sweet Kankri’s sounds of wonder would be the first time something curls deep inside him. And how fun it would be to stir up a little pitch and really test that seadweller strength. Your thighs shift idly, bulge stirring in interest at such lovely thoughts.

 

“But, in the meantime,” Kankri begins, breaking into your musings, “I believe we should endeavor to clean up both ourselves and your bed.” He gives the stained covers a disapproving look. “Somehow I can’t bring myself to believe that it was intended to be used in a concupiscent manner without an accompanying pail. Perhaps the humans have a trick to it?”

 

“Whatever you say, chief,” Cronus mumbles, eyes lavender-streaked slits of tired contentment. “Whatever you say.”

 

Though you almost hate to do it, you stop petting him and sit up before anyone can fall asleep. “Come on, you two. Cronus, if you don’t still have an ablution block fit for royalty I’m going to be severely disappointed.”

 

As it turns out, you’re not disappointed in the least. You can take the seatroll out of the ocean, but apparently you can’t talk them out of the idea that a proper ablution trap should be big enough to swim in, so of course the three of you fit into it together with room to spare.

 

Naturally, this sets Kankri to a lecture on the ablution privileges of the cooler blood castes (delivered from comfortably reclining in said trap). Cronus casually dunks him under the water with one tender hand between his horn nubs, and, as a good moirail, you’re obliged to retaliate on his behalf. Too bad dunking someone with gills has absolutely no effect whatsoever.

 

Somewhere between splashing and yelling like absolute wrigglers and raiding the nutrition block’s supply of human snack foods, a surprising thought occurs to you: this is the most content you’ve felt since long before the new universe was created.

 

You’re not sure how to feel about that, so you try to focus on the present—on how sweet these strangely striped snack cakes taste, how delicious Cronus is already starting to smell again, how precious Kankri is whilst imperiously ordering both of you about, dressed in an overlarge shirt spangled with the Aquarius sign.

 

Then you’re all back in the respiteblock learning how to put clean fitted fabric coverings on the bed and a 'pillow fight,' which Cronus swears is an absolutely necessary human bonding tradition performed when friends sleep at one another’s hives, leads straight back into redrom shenanigans.

 

You don’t know how long you and Kankri will be here—another night, two, five—or what will happen afterward, when your assistance is no longer needed. But at the moment you can’t say that you care too terribly much.

 

And you think troll Fonzie would approve.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> For the rest of forever, Porrim and Kankri's moirail code for shark-jumping shenanigans is going "ayyyy!" and giving each other thumbs up; Cronus gets twitchy as hell and no one outside their little jumbled triad knows why. 
> 
> (This was largely inspired by siggykuu/McSiggy's cute and funny porcronkri works on tumblr. Siggy, if you ever see this, power to ya!)


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